


Days: Different in the Same Way

by zzt_enthusiast



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Doesn't make any sense, Fluff and Angst, Kind of Nostalgic in a Weird Way, M/M, Melancholy, Sad but also not, Stream of Consciousness, Vignette, idk what i wrote, just Ziyi thinking ig, super short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 02:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzt_enthusiast/pseuds/zzt_enthusiast
Summary: [And Zhengting would ask, “Do you love me?”.  And Ziyi would say yes, but Zhengting should have known that Ziyi loved him first, loved him most, had only ever known what it felt like to love him.]





	Days: Different in the Same Way

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago in first person about myself so sorry if any of the wording is weird... I know there's no plot but this is the purest example there is of my style of writing. Hope you enjoy!

Mornings: Ziyi was never one to wake up with the sun. Zhengting was though. Sometimes if Ziyi stayed up all night he could watch the tendrils of sunlight slip through the Venetian blinds and slowly inch up his boyfriend’s face when dawn finally approached. How the early morning glow illuminated each feature on Zhengting’s face one at a time. A lover’s caress from the brightest star in the sky for the brightest star in his life. And Ziyi watched as Zhengting’s eyelids fluttered and his fingers twitched in the bedsheets and he would open his eyes and the first thing Zhengting saw every morning was yellow and gold and the hazy luminescence of content, and hopefully Ziyi. Zhengting were a morning person and Ziyi was a Zhengting person so he would undoubtedly find himself on a jog or hike at ass o’clock, gasping for air as his lungs and legs burned. But Ziyi never refused because he wouldn't trade anything for how Zhengting’s eyes gleamed with success and his sweat smelled like satisfaction.

Afternoons: After quick showers and prolonged lunches and the cyclical contentment derived from routine, came the afternoon. Afternoon was a time when the world outside of their apartment seemed too foreign to even comprehend. When Zhengting felt a bit like Daisy as the heat filled up the room as only a New York summer can, with the stink of sweat and desperation. Trapped. And I guess Ziyi was a little like Gatsby as he stepped out onto the balcony with that enigmatic aura and an illusion of grandeur. A little later Zhengting would find him there and would whisper something about how all great love stories begin on a balcony. And then Ziyi would kiss him. An attempt to chase away the doubt, the worries, the lies, the bitter residual smoke of a secret vice. Replace them with Ziyi. With his pure desperation to be wanted and to want. With his twisted game of human folly. With how he tasted of leftover latte and the saccharine of addiction. 

Nights: Nights were reserved for worship. And Ziyi was the most pious of them all. Zhengting’s bed was his church, Zhengting’s body his religion, Zhengting’s hands his Bible, Zhengting’s name his incantation, Zhengting’s lips his salvation. And Zhengting would ask, “Do you love me?”. And Ziyi would say yes, but Zhengting should have known that Ziyi loved him first, loved him most, had only ever known what it felt like to love him. Ziyi loved him how one can only love their God, their savior. Loved him like how Lucifer loves his father, how Gatsby loves Daisy, how the tides love the moon. Loved him despite of his edges, brokenness, unpredictability. Loved him because of his edges, brokenness, unpredictability. Loved him so much it felt like the waves were pulling him under, loved him so much it scared him. Not because he couldn’t breathe, but because he didn’t want to anymore. Reveled in how much he loved him, Ziyi basked in how he was the only one Zhengting had, the only one who could love him so deeply, so purely, so abstractedly. His love was all encompassing, and a little debilitating, but most importantly it was liberating. Loved how Zhengting broke him with his hands, words, and eyes only to put him back together with his fingers, mouth, and thoughts. Loved him from when they kissed. Even though Ziyi had expected Zhengting to taste like excellence, like fireworks, like gold, like sweet cliches and expensive cologne and how silk feels on your skin. But Zhengting only tasted human, like the artificial tingle of peppermint, like a silver medal, like the foul residue of alcohol and disappointment. Even then, Zhengting felt untouchable. But he looked like refinement, sounded like sacrilege, smelled like rain. Now rain. Rain is something you can see and hear and feel and taste only when its here. But when it leaves, all you’re left with is the smell. Petrichor, the way it lingers in the concrete, in the humidity. Like how Zhengting lingers inside their house, inside their pictures, inside Ziyi. And he can’t see or hear or feel or taste Zhengting anymore. But the scent of him permeates the air, permeates his life, as Ziyi tries to exist through the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Feel free to let me know in the comments, or on my twitter @zzt_enthusiast or my Curious Cat https://curiouscat.me/zzt_enthusiast ! I am also accepting prompts on both platforms if you want a specific plot to be written :)
> 
> Also let me know if you like these more vignette-y pieces or the ones with some semblance of plot like "Wanna Get Love". Btw "Wanna Get Love" actually go so much LOVE and I want to thank everyone who supported my first work for the fandom!


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